[INTRO (Rolling drum crescendo… BRASS EXPLOSION! + Trumpets)] Ladies and gentlemen! Here he is—the world champion of creative excuses! The prince of the couch! The one and only… DOCTOR “MOM, CAN YOU HANDLE IT?” [VERSE 1] There’s this clever guy— well, actually… a bit round— Looking for a steady job just to avoid the world around. He walks into a shoe shop, laces everywhere, But after two hours he’s already losing air! He says: “The smell of feet is poisoning my nose, This boxed‑in life? A tragic joke, I suppose!” One week in and he’s packing his bags: “I wasn’t born to sell magic tags!” Then he tries the electrician—wires, tension, fear: “DANGER OF DEATH!” What a mess in here. He grabs a screwdriver, stares at the socket: “Too technical for my brain, I’d better drop it!” Five days later—gone, “I’ll end up shocked, come on!” His whole career is one big erased idea. The shock! [CHORUS] (Brass explosion, everyone shouting, hands in the air) What kind of job is that? It’s not for me! I deserve a throne, not a lousy coffee! Exploiters everywhere—get away from me! Mom, Dad… will you handle it, or not, please? Work? No thanks! Bank transfer? Yes, please! Work? No thanks! Please, someone keep me alive financially! [INSTRUMENTAL SOLO] [VERSE 2] He tries being a waiter, tray in hand: “My feet are killing me—what a cruel plan!” Off goes the apron: “My back is breaking, My dignity’s priceless, no mistaking.” “I walk too much, I’m getting calluses, I only want to stand when the music dances!” Then three more jobs—one month in all: Call center, bricklayer, newsstand… a downfall. Always a reason, a complaint, a cry: “They’re all exploiting me!” That’s his battle cry. He says: “I’m a genius, a natural-born star, But the job market’s a dark, unbreakable bar!” [BRIDGE] (Music stops. Only bass and drums. Confidential tone.) He dreams of a villa, a yacht, a fancy car… But the only thing he knows how to do is… who knows… He feels like a Manager, a CEO, But he can’t even tie his own… …little boot! IT’S NOT MY FAULT! IT’S THE SYSTEM! [(TRUMPET SOLO – fast, joyful, carnival style)] [CHORUS – Full power, everyone together] What kind of job is that? It’s not for me! I deserve a throne, not a lousy coffee! Exploiters everywhere—get away from me! Mom, Dad… will you handle it, or not, please? Work? No thanks! Bank transfer? Yes, please! Work? No thanks! Please, someone keep me alive financially! [INSTRUMENTAL SOLO] [INSTRUMENTAL SOLO – heavy‑metal melodic guitar] [OUTRO] “Hi Mom? Yeah, it’s me…” “No, I didn’t find anything…” “Of course—they exploited me!” “So… can you send the transfer?” “Thanks Mom! You’re the best!” “See you at dinner.” [HEAVY‑METAL MELODIC GUITAR SOLO] “Thanks Mom! You’re the best!”